


you can take this heart

by defcontwo



Series: the epikegster remix [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7090687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, what the hell was that, then?" </p><p>Or: a way that Epikegster could have gone differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can take this heart

".....Kenny, I can't do this." 

Kent rears back, feels like he's been hit. Jack is so close; his breath is warm on Kent's cheek, and his cheeks are flushed, like he's been running. There's the ghost of a hickey on Jack's pale skin and Kent -- Kent put that there, just now. What the fuck. 

What the fuck. 

Kent steps back, but Jack's got him crowded up against the door, and he can only go so far. Lets out a breath, fists both hands. There's an anger prickling at the edges of his consciousness but he doesn't want it. He's so fucking tired of being angry. He's so fucking tired, period. 

"So what the hell was that, then?" 

Jack frowns. "What?" 

"What was that, Jack?" Kent runs a hand through his hair, tugs at the ends. He's not sure when his hat got knocked to the floor, but there it is, just out of the corner of his eyes. "You......god, you just kissed me like we were still in the backseat of my shitty Toyota after practice, like always." 

Jack swallows hard, and Kent's gaze stays fixed on the motion, so he doesn't have to see whatever's in Jack's eyes. He already knows he won't like it. 

Shit, he should've just started talking about hockey, the way he'd meant to. They've never. They've never _done_ this, they've never talked about what they were, about the things they used to do behind closed doors, when they were young and on top of the world, or as close to it as you could get in the ass-end of Quebec in the dead of winter. 

"I shouldn't have," Jack says, and Kent kind of wants to hit him.

"Why not?" 

Jack stares straight ahead, jaw set in stubbornness. "I can't. I'm not that person anymore. I can't be that person for you anymore." 

Kent barks out a laugh, and it tastes bitter in the back of his throat. "Jack, how the fuck am I supposed to know the difference these days? You won't give me the chance to find out." 

Jack shoves both hands into his pockets, the way he does when he's trying to keep himself from fidgeting, or fleeing. Or, hell. Maybe there's no meaning in it at all. Maybe none of that's true these days. But Kent wants to know, anyways. 

"Huh, I. I uh, never thought about it like that." 

"Yeah, well," Kent says. Shakes his head. He has no idea where he was going with that. Has no idea where he's going with any of this. This is so far off the edge of the map of any plan he had coming here, and Kent feels fit to bursting with all of the things he wants to say, but has never known how to put to words. 

Jack reaches out, brushes the hair out of Kent's eyes, and Kent forces himself to go perfectly still, can barely let himself breathe through it. 

"Okay," Jack says. "We can, uh. Start with that. It's, uh. I can't just. I shouldn't -- " 

"Yeah," Kent breaks in. "I'm kind of getting that." 

Jack huffs a laugh. "Really? Because I didn't even know how I was going to finish that sentence." 

Kent tips his head forward, rests his forehead against Jack's shoulder. God. He breathes in, one, two, three. He could stand here like this all night, if Jack let him. "What a pair of dumbasses." 

"I guess that hasn't changed," Jack says. "Sometimes I think maybe I've only gotten older and dumber." 

"Yeah? Me too," Kent murmurs. "But I barely finished high school, and I get shoved into the boards on a regular basis. You've got no excuse, college boy." 

"Shut up, Kenny," Jack says, but he's started tracing patterns into the soft cotton of Kent's button down with his thumb, so he can't mean it that much. "Hey, let's go downstairs. Hang out with my team?" 

Kent brushes a finger across Jack's neck, and grins up at him crookedly. "You might want to put on a sweatshirt first." 

Jack looks down, craning his head to try and get a look at where Kent left the hickey. "Oh, you are the _worst_." 

"Not my fault you bruise like a peach, Snow White," Kent says, but he can't stop himself from grinning, still, as Jack shoves him lightly. 

There's still a lot to say, here. And maybe one day they'll even figure out a way to say it, but Kent would bet good money that they'll just wind fucking it up again. 

Well, gold star for effort or whatever the fuck. 

At least they'd both be trying. Right now, Kent'll take it. 

"I think I want to see Lardo destroy you at flip cup," Jack jokes, shoving a sweatshirt on over his head, and fiddling with the collar. 

Kent picks up his hat from the ground, shoves it on backwards. "Dream on, Zimmermann. I'm gonna make a comeback." 

"Don't you have a game tomorrow night against the Bruins?" Jack says, swinging the door open. 

Kent waves a hand. "I'm a healthy scratch tomorrow, coach wanted to give me a break after yesterday's OT against the Rangers." 

Jack starts. "So you don't have to leave soon?" 

Kent steps through the door. He should, because curfew is curfew and he's still the captain, but Kent still hasn't learned how to be smart when it comes to Jack. "Not if you don't want me to." 

Jack follows, presses a hand to the small of Kent's back. "I, uh. I don't." 

So, alright. 

That's a start.


End file.
